blind spot ? skz 9th member

February 2022 – JYPE Studio, 11:47 PM

The lights in Studio 3 were dimmed, the blue hue of Chan's computer screen casting shadows across scattered notebooks, half-empty coffee cups, and an open bag of gummy worms. Ivy sat cross-legged on the couch, a laptop balanced on her thighs, tapping away at a melody that had haunted her all week.

Chan exhaled loudly through his nose, twisting a dial on the console. "I'm just saying, that synth drop feels too clean. It needs more grit."

Ivy didn't look up. "You said that twenty minutes ago. I added distortion. You didn't notice."

Chan blinked at the screen. "You added fuzz. Not distortion. There's a difference."

"You're impossible," she muttered, highlighting a new section in red. "If you wanted to do it your way, why did you ask me to come in tonight?"

"Because your brain is wired differently," he said, not looking at her. "You hear things the rest of us don't."

"Then maybe you should listen when I say it works."

Their bickering had been nonstop since the evening started. Ivy had walked into the studio an hour late—covered in flour from an anger baking session and clutching an iced Americano like it was holy water. Chan hadn't even looked up when she mumbled an apology. They were both running on three hours of sleep and five weeks of pressure. The ODDINARY deadlines were suffocating, and neither of them knew how to slow down.

Chan stood up and stretched, bones cracking. "I'm ordering food."

"It's midnight."

"Exactly. Midnight dumplings solve all creative disputes."

He left the room without waiting for an answer. Ivy stared at the empty doorway for a second, then leaned back with a groan, burying her face in her sleeves.

Ten minutes later, he returned with dumplings and a peace offering: strawberry milk.

She blinked at the carton in his hand. "Really?"

"You bite people when you're hungry," he said, sliding it toward her.

"You're lucky I didn't throw a mic stand."

They ate in silence for a while, the tension deflating like a popped balloon.

"Why are you pushing so hard on this track?" Ivy asked quietly, chewing the edge of a chopstick. "It's just a B-side."

Chan looked at her with a rare flicker of vulnerability. "Because B-sides are where we get to be us. No concept, no choreography—just raw. I want this one to hit."

Ivy nodded slowly. "Then trust me on the layering. I'll handle the background textures. You focus on the bassline."

Chan tapped his fingers on the table, then gave a reluctant nod. "Fine. But if this turns out weird—"

"Weird is literally the concept of this album."

They worked side by side for the next two hours, the energy shifting into something more productive. Ivy leaned over his shoulder, humming backing vocals directly into his ear, and Chan threw in ad-libs without thinking. At one point, he bumped his knee against hers—accidentally, maybe—and she didn't move away.

At 3:17 AM, the track finally felt right.

They sat back, listening to the playback echo through the studio.

Chan rubbed his eyes. "We're a mess."

"But the music's not," Ivy said, smiling for the first time that night.